


Frisk In Wonderland

by anaturalintrovert



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mild Gore, Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), One Shot, Pre-Canon, Short, Whump, aka frisk falls for a long time and gets introspective, based off of that one part of alice in wonderland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 20:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30145356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaturalintrovert/pseuds/anaturalintrovert
Summary: Falling to your death isn’t the best of situations, but Frisk has some time to kill at least. After all, it’s a long way down...Potential trigger warning: unsettling imagery of mouths and gore. It’s nothing major but it may not be your cup of tea.
Kudos: 3





	Frisk In Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling nostalgic for a game that didn’t even come out that long ago. Here’s the result. Enjoy!

At first, the fall had terrified them. Looking down to your death - worse, to the nothing that awaited you - was rather terrifying. Frisk had screamed for quite some time. They had yelled at the top of their lungs and flailed about, turning over in the air over and over again until they felt sick. Blood rushed to their head and made it difficult to know which was was up.

They saw jagged cliff edges and fossils, rock and dirt and worms and a sheer drop of nothing beneath them.

They stopped screaming when their throat went hoarse, and when they realised that they wouldn’t be hitting the ground for quite some time.

They dried their tears - you’d best believe they sobbed rather violently at the prospect of death - and sniffed and swallowed thickly. They curled themselves up into a ball and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

And at one point or another, they’d began to bore of the falling, the literal sinking feeling in their stomach. The concept of dying had been dragged out so much that it bored them. The blood was getting to their head, making them overconfident and delirious and so, so, so incredibly tired.

They closed their eyes and waited some more.

Then they got bored and opened them again and looked down and saw nothing. Not even black. Absolute sheer nothingness.

Horrifying. Well, horrifying for someone who hadn’t already been falling for the past... however long it had been. They thought about their parents and their school and then they didn’t think for a while after that. Everyone would be so upset if they found out that Frisk had visited Mount Ebott. The one thing that kid had been taught since coming out of the womb was to never go near the mountain, steer clear of that mountain, don’t climb the mountain. All that kid had ever heard were terrible, awful stories and nursery rhymes too gory to suit such small children.

Teeth, claws, and talons were described in striking detail. And a bed of flowers. Frisk wasn’t particularly sure where the bed of flowers had come from but apparently there were roses, red stained roses that filled the caves below. Blood and gore lined the rocks like wallpaper, covered the earth like carpet.

That was what everybody said anyone. Frisk chose to believe it because it held their curiosity at bay, at least for a little while.

But they wanted to see the roses. They wanted to see the teeth and claws and talons. They wanted to be anywhere else but their old boring life. Prove themselves to be a hero or something. Thousands of tiny motivators pulling, pushing them away from their comfortable little life and drawing them towards that hole. The gaping maw of sharp rocks that had a jugular made of claws and a uvula of talons.

A tongue of roses, supposedly.

And they hadn’t even meant to slip. It wasn’t their fault.

Somehow, the thought of roses down there comforted the child. They would get to see the roses, even if only for a fraction of a second, before their own body weight crushed them.

Nobody would find them. An enigma, they’d always liked being an enigma. Maybe even the monsters would be curious. Maybe they’d eat Frisk like the stories had foretold, but Frisk liked to think that they had some curiosity within them, some sort of drive to keep moving.

That’s all life was. One curious chain of events after another.

And after that, death.

A few existential crises later, their ears ached from the wind rushing into them. It poked at their brain, prodding, the wind itself a curious beast. They fell slower, the wind taking its time to inspect them. Or maybe the child were viewing everything in slow motion to prolong the inevitable.

Who’s to say? Certainly not Frisk. They were too far gone to think rationally at this point.

They saw nothingness for a little while longer and flinched at the sight of something new.

Sunlight, sunlight that had taken too long to travel down. Broken beams of sunlight cast on flowers.

Bright yellow buttercups. Not a single red rose in sight. Frisk didn’t orient themselves as they fell and landed awkwardly on their side, onto what felt like a million buttercups. They were as large as Frisk’s head, as large as Frisk’s curiously determined heart.

They rested and waited for death to come. No doubt he’d take his sweet time getting down here too.

And they waited. And they slowly stood and figured that they were a ghost. They stood among the buttercups, enraptured by their own mortality.

If they were alive - and they most certainly were alive and well, even if they didn’t quite believe it at that moment - they were about to live for the first time in their frighteningly short life.

A long corridor stretched out not far from the bed of flowers. No roses, no blood, no teeth or claws or talons.

Just Frisk.

Just Frisk and a particularly conniving flower who’d finally popped up.


End file.
